


Pocketful of Rainbows

by dislocatedshoulder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anorexia, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Depression, Eating Disorders, Elvis - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Health Patient Castiel (Supernatural), Mental Health Patient Dean Winchester, Mental Institutions, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Dean Winchester, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, major trigger warning, no hunting au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dislocatedshoulder/pseuds/dislocatedshoulder
Summary: Dean Winchester, a twenty-year-old mechanic, who is battling with severe depression gets admitted to the Lawrence Psychiatric Hospital where he meets Castiel Novak, a reoccurring patient at the hospital. Will they be good for each other? Or will things go terribly wrong?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	1. Mister Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> Dean wakes up in a hospital and learns he has been admitted to a Mental Hospital. There he meets his new roommate, Castiel. 
> 
> Please check the tags for trigger warnings before reading! This fanfic will cover triggering material.

_Sammy,_

_I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. This wasn't how I wanted things to go but I have to. I have to. I can't take it anymore. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Sammy. I love you. I'm so sorry. I have to do this. I can't take it anymore. I have to. Goodbye._

_D.W_

* * *

Dean wakes up in an unfamiliar room. He blinks awake, the fluorescent lights seem to burn a hole into his brain. An uncomfortable throb rose in his wrists, still groggy, Dean shifts his gaze to his side, eyes settling on the white gauze coating the entirety of his forearm.

Memory of the previous night floods into his head. Dean writing a sloppy, almost incoherent note to Sam, setting it on the bathroom sink, fishing the razor blade out of his jean pocket, accidentally knicking his fingertip in the process, sitting on the side of the bathtub. He contemplated filling the tub before getting in but concluded he didn't want to give Sam a mess to clean up, not after losing him.

Still fully clothed, but with his long-sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows, Dean lowered himself into the bathtub. His whole body shook but he wasn't sure if it was from fear or adrenaline. He set the cornblade on the chilled side of the bathtub. He still wasn't sure if he should go through with it or not.

Trauma was what fuelled Dean, he woke up from nightmares every night, he saw it everywhere. Life was worthless when everything around you, even your brother, reminded you of the shit you've been through.

Dean couldn't take it anymore. After he was fully submerged in the tub, Dean reached for the cornblade, hesitantly picking it up. He caught a glimpse of the blood coagulating on his finger. The blade was new and shiny, perfectly sharp on both ends. Perfect for the deed he was about to complete. He took a shaky breath as he lifted the blade to the area where his wrist and hand connect, digging the blade in with strength.

Dean had a history with blades and his wrist. He's been hospitalised for it numerous times as well. He learned from a young age that the blade could banish the trauma.

Dean blinked back the rest of the memories, not wanting to relive. What he doesn't remember though, is bleeding out in his bathroom. He remembers his vision fluctuating and then everything going dark, he remembers peace.

"It seems you're awake." A disembodied voice comes from his right. Dean doesn't recognise the voice, but it's feminine and calm, reassuring. "Hi Dean, I'm Anna, your nurse." _Oh, that's right, hospital._ Dean reminds himself.

He weakly turns his head to face the young nurse at his side. She has fair red hair that is so bright it reminds him of a firetruck. He features are soft but he can see the concern and stress in her eyes. From the look of it, she has seen some shit.

Dean doesn't respond, he just stares blankly at her. "I'm going to check your vitals and bandages. You know Dean, you lost a lot of blood. You're lucky to be alive." She says while she checks the IV drip hanging above Dean's head. _Lucky to be alive my ass._

Nurse Anna checks the computer before she walks back over to Dean's right, "I'm just going to check your bandages to make sure nothing's infected." Her voice was sweet and non-judgemental. Dean recalls the previous nurses he's had after accidentally going too deep. They all judged him for his " _Unholy practices,"_ as one nurse told him. Maybe it was because she was younger, or maybe she knew what he was going through.

She undressed his wrist, revealing an ugly, stitched up slit that went from the beginning of Dean's wrist to the halfway point on his forearm. The blade had cut through old healing up wounds, giving the doctors even more work. Dean grimaces at the sight in front of him and for the first time, he slightly regrets the action. "Jeez," Anna whispers under her breath. "You did some real damage here, but it doesn't look like anything is infected. I'll have to keep an eye on it though, it's only a few days old."

Dean speaks up for the first time. "A few days?" He exclaims more surprise in his voice than he intended. Dean was sure that the night before was when he tried to kill himself. April twentieth. Anna stifles a chuckle.

"Yes. You've been out for a few days. The amount of blood you lost left us with one choice which was to put you in a medically induced coma. They took you out of it yesterday when your body had recovered enough."

Dean rubbed his temple. _Anna was right, I sure did some damage._ "What is the date?"

"April the twenty-sixth. You were admitted here on the twentieth." Dean lets out a loud exhale.

"Shit," He says, chuckling a bit. Then he remembers. "My, my brother," He slips on his words. Grief and guilt invade his conscious. "Where is he?"

"Sam?" Nurse Anna asks while she shimmies her way to a set of cabinets grabbing a set of new gauze. Dean nods. "He was here since you were admitted. Last night when they took you out of your coma I insisted that he went home to shower, sleep and eat. He looked like shit."

"Sounds like him," Dean tried to joke, but his voice was too solemn.

Anna redressed Dean's right arm and walked to the left side of Dean's hospital bed, repeating the steps. "So, uh, when will I be getting out of here?" Dean asked. Hospitals made him extremely uncomfortable, filled with ill or dead people. He was ready to leave.

"You can leave _here_ tomorrow. But Sam admitted you to the Lawrance Psychiatric Hospital, under doctors recommendation."

Dean didn't comprehend the information right away. His mind was still groggy from being asleep for five days. "He _what?"_ Dean spat out, his words more aggressive than he wanted. Nurse Anna didn't flinch though, he suspected she expected that kind of reaction out of him.

"The doctor recommended Sam to admit you to a mental hospital. You have many records of being sent here for self-harming, he saw this as the last straw." Dean rolled his eyes.

"This is bullshit. I'm twenty. Can't I just not go?" Dean was not about to get locked up in some sort of loony bin. But part of him wanted to go, to get better, for Sam.

"You could," Anna answered sympathetically. "But Sam already has a bed for you, paid for and everything." Dean huffed. He couldn't waste Sam's money like that. Especially with how tight money is at home. "It's in your best interest Dean," Anna speaks again. Hoping to convince him to go.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean brushes her off. "Can I talk to him?" Anna nods. She walks over to a shelf and picks up a bag. The contents of it are his blood-soaked clothes and his phone. He must've forgotten it in his pants pocket before he went to the bathroom. Anna fishes his phone out of the bag and sets it on the tray looming above him.

"I'll leave you to it," Anna reaches over to his hand and gives it a weak squeeze before she's walking towards and out of the door.

Dean fiddles with the keypad on his flip phone, using the down arrow key to search for Sam's name in the array of contacts. Once he finds his brother, he taps the call button and rose the phone to his ear. The phone rang a few times before it was picked up.

" _Dean?"_ Sam exclaimed, his voice thick with worry and surprise. Dean doesn't respond right away. He's too scared. He almost left his brother alone in the world. "Dean 's that you?" Sam repeats himself.

Dean smiles weakly into the phone. "Hiya Sammy," he says quietly, trying to hide the pain in his voice. A relieved exhale comes from Sam's side of the phone. "I uh, I woke up half an hour ago. I met Nurse Anna, she's really cool." Dean says without taking a breath. He's nervously trying to make conversation.

"Dean." Sam interrupts Dean's babbling. "I'm on my way." Then the phone line goes dead. Dean sits there, stunned. He expected Sam to be mad at him, but he wasn't sure Sam would ghost him like that. _Maybe he's just eager to see me awake._ Dean tries to reassure himself. He sets his phone back on the tray and stares at the ceiling.

Sam arrived at the hospital twenty minutes later. He looked more cleaned up that Dean expected him to look. It seemed Anna's attempts to get him to go home and take care of himself were successful. Before he steps in Dean's room, he stands in the doorway, seemingly to prepare himself. Maybe even calm himself down. Dean feels tears building up in his eyes. He's overcome with guilt. He was going to leave Sam on his own. _How could he do that?_

Sam walked into Dean's hospital room hesitantly. He eyed his brother with a solemn look on his face. His eyebrows making a deep crease in his brow. Dean will never forget the way his brother looked at him that day. At this moment Dean decides he _will_ go to the Mental Hospital. For Sam. He has to get better for him. He has to be there for his brother.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean chuckles, unable to shake the uncomfortable silence between them. Sam just stares at him. His eyes displayed pain and a touch of anger. _Fuck._ Dean curses himself.

"Dean, what the _fuck?"_ Sam spats out. He's still feet away from Dean's bed. He fears if he gets any closer to his brother he'd lose his temper and knock him out. "What the fuck were you thinking? I could have _lost_ you!" Sam breaks down. He presses his hands into his face, attempting to mask the tears. He mumbling, almost incoherently, but Dean can make out _I could have lost you_ over and over again.

Dean sits up in his bed. His limbs and back are still sore from not moving for a few days but he just grunts and pushes the pain to the back of his thoughts. He had his brother to worry about now. "Sam." Dean tries to find the words. They're on the tip of his tongue but he doesn't know how to organise them. He's baffled. He's furious at himself for doing this to his brother, the only person in the world that truly cares for him. "Sam, I'm sorry." Dean tries. It's not exactly what he was aiming for but it's good enough. His voice is cracking from trying to hold back a loud sob. "Sammy I'm so sorry."

Sam looks up. His eyes are red and puffy from crying and that crease in his brow is as prominent as ever. There's a glint of pity in Sams's eyes though. He's seen everything Dean's been though and he understands why Dean would be looking for an easy way out. "I know Dean," Sam said finally, allowing himself to walk over to his brother's side. "I know, I know, I know," he repeats over and over again while he wraps himself awkwardly around Dean. He's crying again. Dean lets himself cry now. Not an ugly, loud sob, but a controlled cry, tears quietly running down his cheeks.

They stay like that for a while. Sam wrapped around Dean uncomfortably, both of them crying into each other's shoulders.

* * *

"Dean you're going to be fine." Sam laughs. He's never seen his brother this nervous before.

They're driving to the Larawnce Psychiatric Hospital. It's only a fifteen-minute drive from the hospital. Before Dean was set off to the Mental Hospital, Sam stopped back home to grab a few necessities. Dean's toothbrush and a journal he got him. He wanted him to write about himself, his experiences and ideas. A way to vent his feelings. He also grabbed an extra change of clothes for Dean. He didn't want him to show up to the Mental Hospital in blood-soaked jeans and shirt. So he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a well-fitting t-shirt for Dean.

"I know I'm going to be fine Sammy." Dean scowls. It's obvious he doesn't want to go. But he has to. _For Sam._ "I'm just worried about _you,_ baby brother." He pats Sam's shoulder lightly. "Will you be able to live without me?" He says cockily. Sam shakes his head with disagreement.

"Shut up. You know I'll be fine. I'll stay with Bobby for the time being." He looks at Dean reassuringly. Dean nods and anxiously fiddles with the straps on his backpack that rests in his lap.

Dean still has bandages on his wrists. They're wrapped snugly around his forearms. There's still a slight throb from where he cut. The stitches are still in, but there are doctors at the Mental Hospital that are able to treat that. Dean is not excited to see how bad the scars will be.

"It's just three months Dean. I only was able to pay for three months. But if they see improvement before that, then you'll be able to leave before that and I'll be refunded for the time you didn't stay." Sam explains. "You need to get better." His eyes are still on the road. Dean nods but says nothing. _Three months, three months in a Lonny bin. Awesome._ Dean thinks to himself. He doesn't want to act like he doesn't want to go. It would just upset Sam more.

They arrive shortly after 5:00 PM. The hospital is huge. Large windows on the first-floor display patients going on about their day. Nerves settle in his stomach. It's not like the Mental Hospitals he's seen on TV. All the patients are calmly minding their own business or conversing with others. The place almost looks calming.

Sam shuts off the car and takes off his seatbelt. He looks over to study Dean's face. His eyes are still focused on the dayroom windows. "Alright, Dean. We're here." His voice snaps Dean back to earth. Dean grunts in agreement and steps out of the Impala. He walks over to her hood and pats it lightly.

"I'll be back Baby. I promise." He gives the car one more light pat as he leads Sam to what looks like the front entrance.

They walk in together and are treated with a bubbly looking woman behind the front desk. She Has blonde hair and a name tag that reads _Jo_.

"Checking in?" She asks once the boys reach the desk.

Sam nods. "Yeah uh, checking in for Dean Winchester." Sam looks behind him to signal Dean who is distracted by the surroundings.

The main building is void of any patients. He assumes it's off-limits since the front door isn't locked. The ceiling is high with a large fan. The whole building is painted white but there are many pieces of modern artwork lining the high walls. There are barely any other people besides Dean, Sam and Jo. But a few nurses walk around, ignoring Dean.

"Alright you're all set to go," Jo says, breaking the trance Dean was in. "Dean you can come with me after you've had a moment with your brother." Sam nods and turns to face Dean.

"There's visiting hours every Saturday and you can call me once every day. If you need anything, just call me. There's a journal in your backpack, use it. They're not going to let you use pencils right away but I'll bet they'll let you use crayons. Don't get into any fights, please Dean. Just get help." It's a lot to take in all at once but Dean nods. He gives Sam a tight hug and walks off with Jo.

* * *

Jo leads Dean into a room, a man is there, but he doesn't have a name tag. "Andy is going to check your bag to make sure you don't have any sharp objects or anything you can harm yourself with. He's also going to take your phone. You'll be able to collect all of this stuff once you're discharged." Dean nods and hands his bag to Andy. Jo's eyes catch the bandages on his wrists and she shoots him a sympathetic look. Dean knows he's not the first suicidal person she's seen.

Jo leaves the room and Andy shuffles through his bag, checking the pockets on a pair of shorts Sam packed for him. "Do those pants have strings in them?" He asks, looking up at Dean.

"Uh, yeah I think so," Dean answers, confused. He checks the waistband on his sweatpants and sure enough, strings. "Yeah, they do."

Andy walks over to Dean. "I'm going to need to take those from you." Dean looks up at him confused. _How could a pair of drawstrings hurt me?_ Andy recognises the uncertainty in Dean's eyes. "I have to take them because patients tend to hang themselves with them." He says bluntly. No sugarcoat. "I'm going to need your shoes too."

"Ah," Dean understands. He slowly slips the strings from the waistband on his pants, handing them over to Andy. He then quickly takes off his tennis shoes well, setting them neatly next to him. He is now clad in black socks.

"Alright, you're all set then." He points to a door, "you can go out that door." Dean nods and grabs his bag on the way to the door.

He meets Jo on the outside of the other door. She notices him and gives him a smile. "Hey, Dean. I'm going to take you to your room now. You have a roommate. He's a good guy. Mostly keep to himself but maybe you guys can get along." Dean nods and the two walk down a long hallway in silence.

Once they arrive at Dean's room, Jo gets the door for him. Dean braces himself for his new roommate. He's worried he'd get some mentally deranged predator or some kid. But no one's there. "Hm," Jo speaks up. "Castiel must be out in the dayroom or something."

"Castiel?" Dean repeats. "Strange name." Jo nods, agreeing.

"I quite like it though. It's bizarre in a good way." Dean grunts in agreement. "Alright. This is where I leave you for today. It's starting to get late so the patients will be returning to their rooms for the night. You'll get a tour tomorrow after breakfast. I bet Castiel will lead you to the canteen." Jo leaves Dean by himself.

Dean walks into his room, closing the door behind him. His room is quite spacious. It reminds him of a college dorm room. Or from what college dorm rooms look like in movies. Dean's never been to college.

The room has brown wooden floors and white painted drywall. His side of the wall is completely blank but Castiel's is covered in drawings and pages filled with writing. He also had accumulated a few posters. Dean suspects they're Indie movies because he's never seen them before. Castiel's bed is made but it's still sloppy like he made it in a hurry. There's a wardrobe on each side of the room, up against the wall. Dean takes the few articles of clothing that Sam packed for him and he folds them messily into the drawer, closing it quietly.

Dean eyes the journal that Sam left for him. _Did Sam really think I'd be writing in this like a princess?_ Dean chuckles to himself. Despite his reluctance to write in it, Dean sets it atop the wardrobe. He plops himself on the bed and nearly audibly moans at the comfortability of the mattress. But before he can close his eyes the door opens. Dean snaps his head towards the door to see who was there.

An unfamiliar face is standing in the doorway. He's tall but probably not taller than Dean. He's got a mop of jet black hair sitting on top of his head. His striking blue eyes contrast the dark hair. Dean is taken aback. The man standing in front of him was too attractive for words. Not even beautiful could describe him.

"Who are you?" He asks. His voice is scruff and deep. He eyes Dean who is still at a loss for words. 

"Uh. Your new roommate." Dean squeaks out but then mentally facepalmed after realising what he said.

"Yeah, I know that." Castiel scoffs. annoyance clear in his voice. "What's your name." He reiterates his question.

"Dean, Dean Winchester," Dean says. Proud that his voice didn't fail him and make a fool out of him. He sits upon his bed, toying with the bandages on his forearm. Castiel's eyes flick to his forearms and then back up to his eyes.

"I'm Castiel Novak." He says before he turns around to face the wardrobe and takes his shirt off. Dean finds his eyes on Castiel's back. Staring blankly at the other man's back muscles. _Holy shit._ His back looked as if he had wings. Beautifully toned muscles move as he digs through the drawer for a new shirt. Dean's eyes glide to his arms, hoping to see the same elegant muscle there, but instead, he sees scabs and scars all the way up Castiel's arms. Not self-harm scars though. Dean knows what those look like. Castiel has track marks everywhere.

"Why are you staring. You know that's rude." Castiel grunted, still facing the bureau. He pulled a blue t-shirt over his head, shifting it to unwrinkle it and make it fit snugly. And then he turned back to Dean, who was still staring.

Dean stumbled on his words bit, spurting out an array of _Ums and Uhs_ but decided not to say anything for the welfare of his dignity. Instead, he laid back down on his bed, rolling on his side in order to face the wall, evading more embarrassment. He fell asleep around 7:30 PM.

* * *

The sun woke Dean up the next morning. He shifted slightly on the insanely comfortable mattress. He had to look around to recall where he was. That's when his eyes settled on Castiel, who was peacefully sleeping on the other side of the room. His features were much softer while he was sleeping. The crease in his brow is gone. His prominent frown faded into a neutral look. His face was extremely beautiful while he was sleeping. Dean's eyes migrated to his arms, glancing over the track marks that polka-dotted his toned arms. He felt guilty looking at Castiel like this. When he was vulnerable. He averted his eyes to the analogue clock resting on the wall above the door. It read 7:15. Dean had almost gotten twelve hours of sleep. Twelve hours after he had slept for five days. He chuckled. That's more sleep than he's had in a lifetime.

Dean got out of bed, realising that he had the familiar feeling of having to pee. He was a foreigner to this place though. No idea where anything but the main entrance was. He assumed the bathrooms couldn't be too far though.

He stepped quietly out of the room, careful not to wake Castiel. And then he was on his way. From the looks of it, their room was in the main hallway, but there were many different branches of hallways that turned on both sides, making the search for the bathroom even more complicated. Dean decided to go on his right first.

After he walked for what seemed like forever, and the feeling of having to relieve himself growing stronger and stronger by the minute burned into his bladder, he finally located a bathroom. There was no door on the bathroom, just an archway. The floor was a tile that reminded Dean of the bathrooms at public pools. He looked around, eyeing every bit of the bathroom.

The walls were a similar tile to the floor, but not one hundred per cent the same. Showerheads lined one wall of the bathroom, just a few feet apart from each other. Soap and shampoos were on a ledge next to each showerhead. There were urinals to the right of the showerheads and stalls on the left. Dean shuffled to a urinal and relieved himself. Moaning aloud as he did.

Finding his way back to his room was harder than finding the bathroom, and when he made it back the analogue clock on the wall above the door read 8:00. Dean didn't know what time breakfast was served, but he assumed it would be soon. Nurses would knock on their doors and tell them to get up and eat. And then they'd get fed some meds. Dean decided to pass time by sleeping. Listening to his stomach screaming out for food wasn't going to pass the time.

Dean woke to a pounding at their door and then a, "Wake up boys, time for breakfast." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and did his best to lift himself into a sitting position on his bed. Castiel was already awake, standing by his wardrobe picking through it. Dean grimaces at the fact that he has to change. Sam being Sam, grabbed all the wrong things. Dean did _not_ want to wear a pair of shorts, but it was that, or the sweatpants he had on the day before. Hesitantly Dean walked over to his wardrobe and pulled out a pair of cotton champion shorts. He didn't recognise the shorts so he assumed they were Sams. Dean slid his pants down and watched them slide down his legs, resting at his feet. He still had the black socks on from the day before. Dean hoped that Sam had remembered to pack him a pair or two of socks. 

He dragged the grey shorts up his legs and realised how short they were. They cut off nearly halfway up his thighs. Dean huffed in annoyance, hoping that he could get to a washing machine before the end of the day. Or maybe he could call Sam and ask him to bring him more sweatpants. 

Dean was so preoccupied with getting dressed and being annoyed with Sam that he didn't feel the eyes lingering on his back. Castiel had been watching him get dressed from his bed. He watched intently as Dean slid his pants down his legs and slowly drag the small shorts. They fit his ass perfectly and were loose around this thighs. Castiel didn't even notice how attractive his roommate was until now. Dean had amazing legs. Long and bowlegged. Muscular thighs that look as if they could crush someone's skull. 

Castiel couldn't seem to pry his eyes away from Dean. But when Dean turned around locking their eyes, Castiel felt his face heat all the way up. He sat there frozen, just like Dean had done the day before with him. But Castiel wasn't going to show weakness around Dean. He swallowed his embarrassment. "It's time for breakfast. Hurry up." He said, making his voice sound as annoyed as possible. 

Dean stood there surprised at what he had just witnessed. Was Castiel staring at him? What was that? Dean tried to shake the confusion and play it off. Maybe Castiel was just zoning out and didn't even realise he was staring at Dean. Dean was distracted from his thoughts once the room's door was opened by Castiel. He signalled Dean to leave before him. Biting back the urge to say "Ladies first.'

Castiel lead dean to the canteen or what normal people call the cafeteria. The number of people lining up for food was unfathomable. So many mentally ill patients. Dean no longer felt alone with his issues. It was kind of comforting. 

Still following Castiel, Dean and him made their way to the end of the line. The food was being served in almost a buffet manner but the patients didn't serve themselves. Probably to avoid them taking too much or too little. Dean's eye caught a tray of bacon and he felt his mouth water. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. 

Dean's plate ended up being filled with all sorts of foods. He had ham, bacon, eggs, and even some waffles and syrup. But he hadn't tasted it yet. He wasn't sure how good the food would be considering the situation, his mouth watered just looking at the feast on his tray. 

Castiel had a smaller plate, consisting of fruit, eggs and two pieces of toast. Dean looked at Castiel's toned but thin body. He assumed Castiel was rather built before he got into drugs. Dean brainstormed. _Maybe he was an athlete and then he got addicted to steroids and then he went to the harder stuff?!_ Dean felt as if he was talking to Sam, telling him one of his ridiculous stories. Dean was itching to know about Castiel. How a guy like him got himself stuck on drugs and in and out of a Mental Hospital. 

Castiel leads Dean to a table in the middle of the canteen. There were two other people occupying the table. Once was extremely thin, picking at his food, the other was staring blankly at his food, scraping his fork on the surface of the table repeatedly. "Hello, Mick. Crowley." Castiel greets them as he sits down. Both men look up at Dean, staring at his with an untrustworthy glare. "This is Dean. He's my new roommate." 

"Oh right," the skinny one spoke up first. "Because your other one kille-" 

"Shut the fuck up Mick." Crowley interrupted, shooting a death stare at the other. Mick seems to flinch at Crowley's sudden outburst, but he ignores it and goes back to picking at the scrambled eggs on his tray. Crowley looks up at Dean after finally spooning a little bit of cereal into his mouth. "What are you in for then, huh?" Crowley asks, his voice almost mockingly. 

Dean chuckles and lifts up his forearms, still clad in bandages. "Wasn't successful at offing myself." He says before stuffing a whole strip on bacon into his mouth. At least he still had his appetite. 

The group of four sit silently for the rest of the breakfast. Dean clears his tray. Castiel eats everything but the crust of his toast. Crowley finishes the bowl of cereal but doesn't drink the leftover milk. Mick eats an apple, leaving eggs, toast and fruit left on his plate. 

"Alright. What's next then?" Dean asks Castiel when they return to their room. Dean is properly full and he would rather just fall into a food coma than anything else. 

"We have group therapy in twenty minutes." 

_Group therapy? Shit._


	2. No More Teardrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has visiting hours and meets with Sam. Dean finally talks to Castiel.

_May first,_

_I know I said I'd never write in a journal about my feelings but writing your feelings is therapeutic. Maybe that's why I'm so fucked up. I never wrote or talked about my feelings._

_Dr Tran tells me that I have a major depressive disorder. She said she could tell after our first personal therapy session. She thinks I may have an anxiety disorder as well, but she needs to evaluate me more for that one._

_I got my bandages taken off yesterday. The stitches are still in, but it's healing quite well. There's always going to be a gnarly scar, but It'll give me an excuse to tell outrageous stories to little kids._

_Cas is sitting on his bed, reading a book right now. I don't think I've ever seen someone read so much. It's like he enjoys it? God, I hope not. That'd mean he's a nerd._

_I haven’t dared to establish an actual relationship with Cas. But I think I might be crushing on him. God, I feel like a middle schooler. I am writing in a friggen' journal about my crush. Sammy's gonna have to pay for this._

_I don't think I'm getting any better, though. They have me taking Prozac every morning, but that only helps my mood. It's not helping me with the urges._

_Maybe I should talk to Cas._

The loud buzz of patient banter hummed in Dean's ears as he followed Castiel down the buffet line. It was lunchtime, so a different array of foods were set out for them. The main meal changes every day, but it is the same every week. Ham and cheese sandwiches on Mondays. Spaghetti and meatballs on Tuesday. "Gourmet" ramen on Wednesday, even though Dean is pretty sure it's just microwaved ramen with rotisserie chicken. They had a salad bar on Thursdays which consisted of literally every salad dressing ever created. And on Fridays, there was a fish fry, but not many patients liked fish, so they allowed them to substitute it with a different type of meat.

It was a Friday, and Dean _hated_ fish. Hated the smell, the texture, the look. Disgusting. Castiel, on the other hand, was piling his plate. Dean looked at Castiel as he asked the lunch lady for one more piece of fish. Then he grabbed a packet of tartar sauce and left Dean's side. _Maybe I won't talk to him. That was just a crime against humanity._

Dean grabbed a rotisserie chicken breast and some fruit and was on his way, following Castiel. Mick and Crowley were already at the table, trays void of fish. Dean thanked God.

Mick, as usual, wasn't eating, just picking at his food. He had told the group the day before that if he didn't start eating they'd have to give him a feeding tube, and that's the last thing anyone wanted.

Crowley didn't have a problem with eating. He wasn't anorexic like Mick, he just never had an appetite. He was always picking at his food, not eating it until the last minute. If the doctors saw him not eating, they'd get suspicious. So he fought the gag in the back of the throat and swallowed down the chicken.

Mick and Castiel were having a conversation about music. Both of them had similar tastes in old jazzy music. Dean overheard _Elvis_ a few times. He wanted to step into the conversation too, talk about music and enjoy himself a little. But he was too zoned out. He felt dizzy. Dissociated. He just fed himself chicken and watched outside the windows.

Some patients were relaxing in the courtyard, which was grassy, sunny but in some spots shady as well. Dean found himself focusing on one particular person in the courtyard. He was scarily thin, his lanky legs wrapped like a pretzel due to him sitting "Criss Cross AppleSauce." He was facing halfway towards Dean, so he could only make out half of his face. From what he could see, he was ugly. Sunken in eyes, patchy hair that stood up wildly, untamed. His thin face was long, cheekbones jutting out, looking so sharp they could split a knuckle in half. The boys' skin was so pale it almost seemed a sickly yellow, but Dean couldn't tell if it was the lighting from the sun or his actual skin colour.

The individual Dean was scoping out, turned and looked directly at Dean. He froze. His hand that was feeding him stopped halfway to his mouth. Dean forced himself to pry his eyes away from the boy. He was worried another second of looking at him would send him spiralling into a panic attack and Dr Tran would not be happy about that.

Lunch was over ten minutes later. Dean had cleared his plate as well as Crowley. Castiel left a single piece of fish on his plate, groaning about how he shouldn't have eaten so much and how he probably gave himself salmonella as they walked away. Mick stayed at the table. Eyeing his food with resent. He _had_ to eat. If he didn't, he'd get the dreaded tube. And apples weren't _that_ many calories. They were mostly water. Mick took a hesitant bite out of his apple slice and then finished it in another bite. He didn't eat anymore though. Leaving a chicken breast and the rest of his apple wedges abandoned on his tray.

"So, How're you, Dean?" Sam asks. They're sitting in the dayroom, the afternoon sun beading bright into the large windows. Sam's brows are knotted with worry, and Dean can see Sam's eyes dart back and forth from his eyes to his forearms every once in a while.

"I'm... okay," Dean answered, fiddling with the _Connect Four_ piece in his hand. It was Sam's turn, and he was waiting. Despite being in mid-conversation, Sam was studying the game too intently.

"Have you been writing?" Sam asked, not even looking up from the game. He held his black checker piece tightly in his hand, his brows furrowed tightly.

Dean didn't even want to answer that question. He didn't want to seem like a little girl. Writing in a journal about his crushes and his feelings. He felt so stupid. "Yeah, I am." Dean sort of murmured under his breath. Sam _still_ hadn't placed his game piece. "Jesus Christ Sammy," Dean groaned, his voice laced with irritation. "Just place the damn piece it's not the fucking Olympics."

A nurse sitting on a couch facing the fireplace (which wasn't lit) shushes Dean and quickly reprimands him for swearing. Dean just apologises in his charming, _I-steal-anyone's-heart_ voice and looks back at Sam, who is _finally_ sliding his game piece into its rightful spot. There's still room for Dean to win, but he's not paying attention.

Their conversation continues for a little longer before Dean decides to bring up Castiel. "Sammy, I need advice." Dean pipes up after their second game of _Connect Four._ Sam nods, looking up at Dean. His features are soft now, not a glimpse of worry or concern. No anger or discomfort. Just soft. Calm. Relaxed. "My roommate. Castiel." Dean swallows hard, "He's uh, I. I think," Dean leans in towards Sam, bringing his voice down a bit. "I think I may like, like him." Dean cringes. _There it is again, me actin' like a little girl._

Sam chuckles. "What is this, fifth grade?" Sam is still laughing a bit, no longer focused on his game. Dean tenses up and glares at Sam. "I'm joking. Chill out. So. Tell me about him _."_ Sam leans back in his chair after setting down the game pieces he was fidgeting with.

"Well," Dean starts. He looks around the room, hoping Castiel wasn't in earshot of him. Sure enough, Castiel wasn't even in the room. He was in the clear. "He's beautiful, Sam. Like _gorgeous._ He's like something you only see in movies where they plaster their actors in makeup. Except he doesn't wear makeup. He's loves reading. It's almost concerning how much he reads. And he's got this mop of dark, almost jet black hair. It's always so messy and all over the place. I'm pretty sure he's an addict though. That's why he's here. He's got track marks all up and down his arms and some on his torso. It's kind of sad." Dean rambles on and on. He's not sure how long he is talking, but when he's done, he looks up at Sam who is _beaming._

"Sounds like you're in _love_ big bro." Sam claps him on the shoulder.

"No, Sam, don't say that. We barely talk." Dean feels his face heat up. He expected his face to be embarrassingly flushed.

"My god," Sam puts his face into his hands, rubbing his temples for a second. "You are in fifth grade." Sam looked up at his brother. Eyes shone with admiration. "Get brave and go get your man."

And then visiting hours were over.

* * *

Dean sat in his bed. He was doodling in his journal. No one knew it, but Dean was reasonably good at drawing. He always drew things around him. People, landscapes, buildings. When he needed to escape.

Castiel laid on his bed. Dean couldn't tell if he was sleeping or zoned out, but Dean didn't care. He wanted to speak up and tell Castiel how he felt, how he found him irresistible, how he didn't care that he was a recovering drug addict or how he was covered in track marks. He wanted to kiss him. Castiel's lips may look chapped. Drier than the Sahara itself, Dean still wanted his lips against Castiels. Dean's had plenty of kisses. From men and women alike. But none of them meant anything to Castiel. They all seemed worthless next to Castiel. They all seemed void. Dean just wanted Castiel.

Castiel shifted in his sleep, waking Dean from his trance. Dean allowed his eyes to change to his roommate, you slept soundly, cocooned around his comforter. His features were natural. Eyebrows rested, lips pressed into a soft line. _God his lips._ They

were so pink, his lips. You never see lips that pink unless it's lipstick. But Castiel was all natural _baby._ No makeup needed to make him look the way he looked.

"Dean?" Castiel's gravelly voice shook Dean from his blissful daydream. "Why are you staring? Again." Dean froze.

"Um." Is all he could push out. _Why does he make me so flustered? God, this is so childish._ He just sat there, and his notebook sat snugly in his lap. He forgot about the scribbly doodle of Castiel. Castiel gets out of bed and begins to make it, fixing his comforter and fluffing his pillow.

"Dean, use your words." Castiel mocks. Dean can't see since Castiel has his back turned to him, but there's a smirk plastered across his pale face. "Why were you staring at me again? You can't act like I miss you staring at me all the time. I know it's not because you have some weird staring problem because it's only me you stare at."

Either Castiel is arrogant or clueless. "I, I believe I like you," Dean says. He was tripping on his words. He curses his brain for not being able to comprehend a single sentence around Castiel.

"You like _me?"_ Castiel sounds genuinely surprised. _So he's clueless._ "Like, romantically?" Castiel seems taken back. Like he wasn't expecting that sort of confession.

"Uh, I Understand if you're you know, you don't _swing_ that way that's cool it's just a small crush I'll get over it. You don't have to feel obligated to like me back or something it's okay seriously if you don't like me, it's okay." Dean suddenly took a deep breath that he didn't realise he was holding in.

"Dean shut up," Castiel said. Dean can't place the tone in his voice. It sounded stern, but there was also a sense of comfort with it as well. "I do _swing_ that way." Castiel chuckled at the unfamiliar wording. Dean looked up at Castiel, a hint of hopefulness in his eyes. He'd be hoping Castiel would take this as an opportunity to kiss him if he felt the same way as Dean. Dean took a deep breath. Castiel seemed to be searching for words, looking far into his brain for something to say. "I have found myself feeling... romantically towards you as well," Castiel confessed.

"You, you have?" Dean stammered, he felt pathetic.

"Yes. But that's not what I'm here for." Castiel sat down on his newly made bed. He’s now facing Dean, at his same height as well. "I'm not here to fall in love. I'm here to recover. I can't have a distraction." He's now laying down, nose buried in a book.

"Yeah. You're right." Dean stood up off his bed, walking towards the door. He set his journal on top of his wardrobe, setting the felt tip pen right next to it. He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him, not wanting to slam it.

It was a little after five PM, giving Dean an hour to wander around the institution before they were supposed to stay in their rooms. Dean decides to walk to the day room. There’s a record player that has a small crate of records next to it. Dean's been meaning to check it out, see what kind of selection they have. He suspects they have lots of old _Christian_ music, which Dean doesn't vibe with.

The walk from his room to the dayroom was about two minutes. The hallways were quiet and empty. The large windows in the dayroom exposed the beautiful sunset that spread across the horizon. Oranges, reds and pinks flooded the sky. The clouds painted the air like some old renaissance art. Dean wasn't the type of person who admired a sunset. He never had the time just to sit there and watch the clouds change colour. But now, in this mental hospital, Dean had nothing else to do. So he gazed deeply out the window. He was lost in the mesmerising colours and clouds. 

He didn't know how long he stood at the window, completely perplexed by the sky, but the next thing he remembered was being shaken lightly by the shoulders by a nurse. She was calling his name, her voice quiet and sympathetic. “It’s time to go back to your room.” She said. Dean’s mind was still foggy, so he was barely able to comprehend what the nurse was saying, but he understood enough to follow her instructions. 

On his way back to his room, he thought about how meaningless him being there was. He was wasting his brothers’ money. He wasn’t going to get better, and there was no way. All he knows is trauma—depression, self-harm, painful memories that plague his dreams at night. There was no fixing that. Maybe a bullet to the brain. But no shrink could crack Dean‘s trauma riddled noggin. Perhaps a life’s supply of Prozak or Lexapro but no simple therapy could fix his mind. He was going to be there forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!


End file.
